oneness

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Elsa’s Song, Dec 17th 2021

17. 1 and 7. 1 plus 7. 8.

Oneness. Magic. Infinity.

The three dragons soared above the mountain tops. There, underneath the sheath of mist, as well as in the other world underneath the ice, two different realities took place. Yet they were still the same.

Through The Valley of Thorns the humans, canines and the one feline were led by the great Alabaster. The whitest of white wolves ever to walk this surface.

Underneath the ice, in the river running through the valley, sparks of wisdom, sparks of Isness started to move, warming up, melting and cracking the ice. In some parts it began to break open.

Oneness, Magic and Infinity were also known as The Trinity of The Dragonhood. The spells had woken them up, calling them in to this dimension. The Adventurer was about to be embodied again. Even though her body had left 15 months ago her soul and presence were everywhere. It was just that the humans forgot to tune in from time to time. Oneness, Magic and Infinity were sort of her knights here on earth whenever the humans needed to be reminded to connect in to what is already there.

I know, if you are a human reading this right now you are most likely saying “if the dragons are soaring and the presence of The Adventurer is everywhere, how can I connect “in”? Shouldn’t  I connect to all of that outside of me?”

And that’s just it dear human, nothing is outside of you. All and everything is inside of you. The universe is in you. You are not in the universe. All, all, all, my dear human is a mirror. A reflection. Of you, you, you. You are me, I am you, we are us, we are they, they are us.

Oneness. Magic. Infinity.

I might be called Storulven, I might be your guide at times, and your times might feel like eons. But I am you. You are me. We are all aspects of The One.

Nejla, looked to her left. They were moving really fast through this valley. It felt like someone was tugging at them, pulling them through and they were not to stop. Something  had moved her to look to her left. Thick branches surrounded them on the right side, less thick, lower brush grew on the left side. She heard a noise of ice cracking. A humming sound. Like thousands of little voices singing “Om” arising through the cracks in the ice on the other side of the bushes.

“Go, go, go!” Ricky shouted. His pack was moving faster than ever. He turned his head looking back at Nejla and The Crew. “Pick up speed sister dear! Now!”

The Crew sped up. Nejla felt a slight tingle in the back of throat, a slight jump of the heart in to higher gear, for the first time since she embarked on this trip of allowing the journey to unfold. To her left a huge light shone, like fire.

The Fire Dragons had woken up. 

Little sparks of wisdom had collectively opened up the portal of centuries thick ice. 

The air filled with fierce, sparkling Fire Dragons.

Cecilia Götherström, December 17th 2021. 

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Elsa’s Song, Dec 11th 2021

“What forces were at work here?

White Light, White Wizards, White Dragons, White Wolves? The light was so bright there was no darkness to be seen. That did however not mean there was no shadow. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. Without contrasts there would be nothing to perceive in the centre. 

Laws of Nature. The term had been coined by biologists, scientists, far removed from nature in their mind, close in heart, connections blocked by overactive frontal lobes.

Prakriti, another word for Nature. Another understanding. Ancient one. 

Laws of The Cosmos. 

Oneness.”

Nejla sat with The Crew in Ricky’s and Luca’s garden after the morning sledding, having one of her inner conversations with Storulven. Even though the days were shorter and darker this far north during this time of year the light from the sun and the reflection back from the earth was extremely intense.

Close to six months ago the light had been close to this intense for some time, just after the summer solstice. The shadows had fallen differently, the green on the trees had had a different shade. The light had even made people crossing a zebra crossing seem etheric, close to see-through, which felt pretty scary as you approached in your car.

“All of these “laws” have the same origin.”, Storulven’s voice and presence spoke.

“Oneness. The centre point. Venture further in one of the directions and you feel just a little more distant from it. Venture further and you feel further distant. The thing is though that these connections and combinations are countless – picture a Metatron’s cube, all the intersections and connections are roads to pods of sister and brotherhoods, which in turn all are inter-braided with the roads to the centre point.

You can travel this map with any vibration. You can discover, circle, search, find, feel lost, be found and never, ever do you lose the connection.

“In the beginning was the Word”. Creation was spoken in to being. Sung in to being. Every song, every stanza, every sutra, every word you speak is creation, is creating. How you receive words, songs, light, all vibrations, is creation too.

So, you chose which forces you want to create with. No matter what forces you might perceive being at work here, you choose. You call in the forces you resonate with.

See, all these words – resonance, vibration, sound, echo, light…. I can go on. Same source. From the book of instructions on how to connect in to the centre point. The space. The void. You might travel to the Akashic Records to read the book. You might unlock your heart to read the book. Or, you might become The Adventurer and become The Instruction.”

Cecilia Götherström, December 11th 2021  

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Return

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In a bag a few minutes ago I found this piece below which I wrote on Jan 10th 2014.
Reading it now, it gives me goosebumps – as giving the turmoil, development, moves and all that has happened the past 2,5 or even 3 years , it is more than symbolic that I wrote this early 2014 and am finding it today – July 12th.

Return

The return is imminent,
faith awaits

Her huge white wings
sweeping me in,
closing out the darkness for now

As the wings open
the dark, velvety night sky is adorned
with galaxies,
light-holes
and wishes turned in whisper

I stand there,
basking in her glow,
listening
to the whispers from now,
the whispers from before,
the whispers that were,
that are,
that will come.

In this place all is one.
There is no then,
no now,
no later.

Is the return really a return?
Or is it an opening of what was always there?

She asks me to open my eyes,
my ears, my heart,
with softness,
with a waiting,
whatever comes in.

A feather falls from the sky
into my hand,
I can feel its softness
caressing my cold palm,
almost making me giggle from the tickling feeling.

I watch the feather
as it turns and turns in my palm,
first slow,
then faster,
and faster.
The spiralling movements
makes it stir up
and away.

The feather has turned in to a huge raven,
first white,

when he takes flight I can see him
shifting in to grey,
then in to black,
his glistening eyes disappearing
with the flapping of his wings
directions Ursa Major.

The wind coming from the pine tress in the back,
bring another whisper,
a song,
an anthem.

There is a vibration from the ground,
I turn around.

The whole forest alive,
waving,
swaying,
gently sining a tune
of return,
of now,
of all never being anything other
than what is now.

A brown bear beckons me to come closer.
She has two cubs at her side.
It feels like I know them,
like I have seen them before,
like we are family.

I look up at the sky,
towards Ursa Major,
where Raven headed,
then look back at Mother Bear.

I return.

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Cecilia Götherström, 10/ 1 2014

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Past Lovers

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A piece from our monthly Writer´s Circle in The Hague, written in March of 2014.

When does a Love become a Past Love?
This very moment, as the present takes over?

Is past love, lost love?

Can you love somebody more and love somebody less?
Is there a less less or a less intense,
a more less , or a more intense?

Whatever it is, at this moment it hurts.

It hurts because I find myself loving not just people,
but moments with people.

Past Loves, Past Lovers – what is the difference?
When does Love turn into a Lover?
When you Love, are you not a Lover in its most passionate essence?

Is that not when you bare your heart,
deeper than your flesh and bodily sensations?
Is that not the Love that burns deeper than your skin,
charring your inner core,
touching the roots and the nerves of who you are,
– baring your very soul.

No limits,
borderless,
beyond any rules or conceptions.

When that Love just is, is, is
– does it ever become Past?

When it is so overwhelming that the thought of losing it,
of losing this moment,
of losing this Love,
makes you cringe.

When so many tears have been shed,
when so many glowing smiles and gentle touches have been exchanged,
when you are exhausted,
wrought out,
gasping for air,
in pain,
and somehow still fulfilled in the weirdest sense of the word
– is that when Love is Past?

Is that the moment when you realize,
that all which were the signs of Love;
the Power,
the Force,
the Storms,
of Love,
in an instant got caught up with attachment.

Attachment
to the passion,
to the feeling,
to the cringing skin,
the churning stomach,
the redness,
the fluttering
– instead of Love as something bigger than what we can perceive?

Cecilia Götherström, March 2014

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In my heart of hearts I

Akasha

In my heart of hearts I
hear music
sing to my soul

In my heart of hearts I
am music

In my heart of hearts I
spill in to the world of creation
like a brittle waterfall,
a whiskering wind,
like a tone of love,
of wildness,
of quaking wisdom
shivering out of my bones

In my heart of hearts I
know who I am

In my heart of hearts I
melt into the mother,
become the father

In my heart of hearts I
am the speck of oneness,
the soul who is the muse,
the giver of joy,
simultaneously

In my heart of hearts,
there is no stopping me,
No boundaries,
no beginning,
no ending,
in my heart of hearts

In my heart of hearts I
look deep into the brown-yellow eyes
of the enormous white wolf
in the mirror
looking back at me,
eyes full of tenderness,
eyes full of knowing,
soul full of worship

In my heart of hearts I
come home
to who I am,
to who I was,
to who I am to be,
simultaneously.

Cecilia Götherström, Nov 5th 2015
Thank you Roger Housden for the writing prompt!

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Rich

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I am rich.

Rich beyond belief,
beyond fathom, I am.

I am because I am rich.

Mother provides for me,
Father keeps me safe,
Brother nurtures me,
Sister sings to me.

Earth is what I am,
what I walk upon,
what lives inside my soul.

Sky is what breathes,
Soil is what bleeds,
Wind is what feels.

Rich I am.

All that I am,
is all that You are.

Star family, Earth family.

Rich I am.

Walk I do.

Forever and ever.
In the Richness of Plenty.

“Did you love today?” she asks before
she gently susses me to sleep.

“Were you grateful today?” he asks when
he closes the velvet around me.

“Did you live today? Live like life itself?”
they ask as they sing me away.

Dawn and dusk.
Dusk and dawn.

Creation.
Gratitude.
Breath.

Did you love today?

I did.

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Cecilia Götherström, June 21st 2015

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I am sorry House

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I am sorry House,
that I could not love you.

My heart was closed,
too busy holding on to pieces,
already broken
I was.

I could not see,
your tender care,
your solid hold,
you doing what you do best,
shelter.

I could not feel
warm, ancient soil
underneath my feet
lifting pine trees to the sky
welcoming crystal white covers
to carry us into the depths of the woods
in the company of ravens, eagles, moose and myths.

I was not hearing
the soaring air,
the speaking winds,
the soft whispers of comfort,
the Soul of the land
speaking to my broken soul.

My heart could smell,
could touch the sun,
could caress the moon,
sing with wolves and wonders
– but not under your roof.

I am sorry House,
for not living
while I inhabited your space.

I am sorry House,
for just grieving
in your warm arms.

I am sorry Mountain,
for loving you more
than I love myself,
for finding life, joy, wonder and purpose
on your hilltops.

I am sorry Mountain,
for capturing your soul into mine,
for the bliss of oneness
which only you know.

I am sorry Mountain,
that I cannot live that gift, that passion
for now and ever after more.

If anyone will ever ask,
I shall say;
The Mountain holds my Soul.

Cecilia Götherström, May 7th 2015

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The Song Of Me

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The Song of Me,

flies over snow covered mountains,

sings a spring time creek to its cover.

The song of me,

crosses hearts and barriers,

opens, moves and births.

 

The song of me,

is for no one else to sing,

but to blend in to

the song of all of us.

 

The song of birth, of cry, of worship,

of destinations

time and again.

 

The song of me breaks open,

moves crystals and rocks

into blessings.

 

The song of me cracks open,

that which is to be said,

to be done,

to be laid down,

to be rendered,

reunited,

rewed,

regained, retwined, regranded.

 

The song of me,

sings to the eyes of the soul

to the song of the gods

the eyes of the stars.

 

The song of me is the soul,

the spare, the twining twister,

the ever splendid galaxy of tears,

of joy,

of magic,

of serenity,

of wisdom,

of class and doom.

 

The song of me

is mine to sing,

thine to hear,

ours to twine

and twine and twine.

 

The song of me,

is of me strong,

of me being creation,

of me being all.

 

The song of me,

is of All.

 

The song of me

is you,

the you that is not

as me is.

I am

the song of me

 

Divine

 

 

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Cecilia Götherström, Gävle 13/3 2015